


Getting to Know You

by Kummerspeck7



Category: Royal Pains
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Secret Identity, Some Plot, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2020-10-07 22:04:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20470502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kummerspeck7/pseuds/Kummerspeck7
Summary: Human for sale Number Thirteen walked down the catwalk as Twelve left. Very subtly he brushed his hand against hers while they passed. Were they fucking, Dmitry wondered? No, it looked more like he was comforting her. It just pushed him further into his suspicions. Compassionate, considerate of others. Under the lights a huge bruise was noticeable near his eye. Maybe he'd tried to escape. Or maybe he'd defended someone.Was he the doctor that disappeared six months ago? If he was, could he help Boris?





	1. Prologue

Prologue

The Auction was held once a month at a nightclub called Dizzy. It was near the end of a busy street in Boston, forgettable and flanked by a disco to one side and a live music venue on the other. Beyond the bland brick facade it continued to be perfectly ordinary: bar at the front, stage and catwalk at the back near a massive sound system. The reek of cigars and human flesh and cheap perfume permeated the damp air no matter the day or hour. It was busier on weekends and quiet during the week. It usually stood empty on Tuesday night-- except for when there was An Event. Hedgerow, they called it. Pretty little maids all in a row. Only the richest elite were given an invitation to peruse and purchase at the auction. Hedgerow had a reputation--Only the freshest flowers. Never used in a commercial setting. 

Which was a particularly vile way to say the people they were selling had never been involved in sex work.

Dmitry curled a lip in disgust. Men in twenty thousand dollar suits driving two hundred thousand cars purchasing other humans for personal use. He couldn't wait for the police to raid and take them to jail. It wouldn't stop them--no, these men were above the law. But it would stop the sales for tonight. There were twenty seven people for sale, and twenty six of them were moments away from being rescued.

Of course, Dmitry wanted nothing to do with the heroics. He didn't plan on helping the cops by stopping the bidders or rescuing the scantily clad victims. No, he needed that twenty seventh person. Most people were kidnapped or sold into human trafficking; but not Number Thirteen. Number Thirteen pissed off Someone Important. Dmitry had a bigger plan. So he sat. And watched. And waited.

The auctioneer brought out Number Twelve, a stunningly gorgeous if clearly malnourished woman allegedly from Brazil. The usual description soon followed: height, weight, hair color, languages spoken. Never a prostitute, clean bill of health. Paddles rose and the amount climbed. Twenty, fifty, eighty thousand dollars. Dmitry took a drink from his flask. 

Number Thirteen.

From America. Man. About five foot ten inches, one hundred eighty pounds, brown hair, green-hazel eyes. Early to mid thirties. Speaks English and Spanish. He matched the profile. Dmitry looked up to see him emerge from the curtains. Athletic, muscled but not overly so, with angular features. A thin gold chain connected two nipple rings that weren't in the profile, but they could have pierced him to fetch a higher price. He wore only a tight pair of what looked like boxer briefs and had no visible birthmarks or tattoos. So far, he was a match.

Thirteen walked down the catwalk as Twelve left. Very subtly he brushed his hand against hers while they passed. Were they fucking? No, it looked more like he was comforting her. It just pushed him further into his suspicions. Compassionate, considerate of others. Under the lights a huge bruise was noticeable near his eye. Maybe he'd tried to escape. Or maybe he'd defended someone. 

Was he the doctor that disappeared six months ago?

The auctioneer described him as "spirited, waiting to be broken in". Dmitry raised his paddle. Number Thirteen looked him directly in the eyes. He wanted to laugh. Boris was going to be furious--but his brother was smart. He'd figure out what Dmitry was up to… Eventually.

Compared to Number Twelve, Number Thirteen sold for a paltry thirty two thousand dollars. So little for a human life. If that man really was the doctor he was looking for, he probably made ten times that in a year before his troubles started. Dmitry checked his watch-- eight minutes until the raid. It was time to go.

"You. Manager." Dmitry snapped, waving the man over. "My employer is impatient to see his new toy. Do you have a room near the back for pictures?"

The manager nodded and gestured for two men to lead him there. "Take these guys in case he gives you any problems. Last room on the right."

"Spasibo." He replied, checking his watch. Six minutes.

Backstage was absolute chaos. People were lined up for their turn to be auctioned off. There were women praying and men crying and the collective despair was nearly palpable. Heavily armed guards stood everywhere, looking for an excuse to rough someone up. 

Three minutes. 

Number Thirteen was brought to him in restraints. Up close Dmitry could see the full extent of his bruising.

"Did you sell me a fighter?" He questioned.

"He's motivated to please." One of the guards answered. "He knows what happens if he gets sent back."

Thirteen glowered. The man didn't appear to worry about his own safety; the bruises were evidence enough of that. The doctor who went missing had a brother he was close to. If this was Hank Lawson, were they threatening the brother? 

Two minutes.

Dmitry rolled his eyes. "Not my problem. Just bring him to the back room for me."

The service corridor was long and mostly unit. That would benefit him if he had to incapacitate the guards, but he wasn't sure he liked his odds against the two giants. He had a car parked near the backdoor that would bring them to Boris' helicopter, but they still had to find the exit. Then it happened.

Suddenly there was an explosion at the other end of the building. Screaming and yelling filled the air. The raid had begun and they needed to get out immediately.

"What kind of business are you running? Go fix this!" Dmitry demanded. The guards looked at one another before running back towards the noise. Perfect. "Let's go, Doctor Lawson." 

Thirteen looked over sharply. "Is this some kind of a test? I don't know anyone named Doctor Lawson."

Dmitry shrugged. "It's immaterial to me. Did you see an exit when they brought you in?"

The man shook his head. "No, but they brought us in through a basement entrance. There should be a staircase to our right just up ahead."

"Are you thinking we go down to the basement escape?" The Russian asked as they started running towards it.

"No, I'm thinking we go up and use the fire escape." 

Dmitry nodded appreciatively. "That's not a bad plan."

They turned into the stairwell just as someone hit the backdoor with a battering ram. They ran faster, painfully aware of the creaking and groaning as the door started to give way. They closed the stairwell's fire door behind them as they made it to the second floor. Below them the backdoor finally gave out, metal twisting and groaning as the battering ram destroyed the doorway.

"Untie me." Thirteen whispered. "I can't climb down the fire escape with my hands tied."

"If you run, I'll shoot you." Dmitry stated casually.

"I don't have anywhere to go. Hurry up and untie me." The man snapped. "Do you have a coat or something? I don't want to attract any attention."

Dmitry shook his head as he unwound the ropes. "Sorry. We're the black Camry on the corner. How does it look out there?"

The man went over to check. "The road's blocked in by two police cruisers and four vans and it looks like six officers are around the exit, keeping an eye out."

"I have a flashbang in my back pocket, but we'll have to go quickly. It'll draw attention." 

"You have a what?" Thirteen asked incredulously. "Didn't they take wartime grenades at the entrance?"

"It's a human auction, not the prom. Are you ready to go or not?" He scoffed.

The man rolled his eyes. "Yeah, let's go."

Dmitry pulled the pin, opened the fire door, and hurled it down the dark stairway. Five seconds until explosion. They got over to the window and opened it just wide enough to jump through. A deafening crack split the air as the grenade went off and the officers ran inside the building. Thirteen went through the window first and started pulling at the fire escape. It was locked. He looked over at Dmitry.

"Hang drop. Now." The man demanded.

It was about ten feet down. It was going to hurt, but he shouldn't break anything. Drawing in a deep breath he tossed a leg over the railing and shimmied down until there was nothing to do but let go. 

For a second he was weightless, falling, free-- and then pain. Did he roll his ankle? It didn't matter. Dmitry grabbed him around the waist and helped him run hell for leather towards the car. They'd just closed the doors and Dmitry had put the key into the ignition when an officer came out with two women and tossed them in one of the police vans.

"We have to help them!" Thirteen exclaimed, moving to open his door and get out.

"They'll be fine." Dmitry growled as he reached over and slammed it closed again. "They're nobodies. They have no value to Hedgerow. Unlike you, I think? If you were to be captured, I think they'd need to shut you up."

Thirteen frowned. But he fastened his seatbelt. "Where are we going?"

Dmitry smiled. "Have you ever heard of Shadow Pond?"


	2. Getting to Know You

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, Hank thought resignedly as the helicopter started to descend next to the largest mansion he'd ever seen. A shiver ran down his spine as the ground got closer. It was more than being nearly naked on a cold day. What did the homeowner want from him? The man who rescued him--Dmitry, he finally learned while they boarded-- Knew who he really was, even though he'd denied it. It seemed like he wasn't going to wind up a sex slave, but what was the tradeoff? What did this mysterious and apparently wealthy man want, and would it put Evan in danger?

The helicopter touched down on the sprawling lawn with a gentle thud. Hank wished, not for the first time, there'd been a blanket or something for him to cover up with. It wasn't that he minded people seeing him in his underwear. It ran deeper than that. Hank had dedicated his life to evolve from an orphaned kid in Passaic to a successful ER doc. He wasn't perfect, but Hank genuinely liked who he was before his problems started and his identity was taken like everything else. Being displayed like an object was just a reminder of how bad everything had gotten. One decision in the emergency room months ago was all it took for him to go from respected doctor to chattel.

"Let's go." Dmitry said while pulling off his protective headphones. "He's waiting for us."

He wanted to ask about a hundred clarifying questions but instead Hank just nodded and removed his own pair. A massive set of double doors near the back of the house opened as they climbed down from the helicopter and five men emerged, all impressively clad in well cut suits. The three at the back were hulking mountains of muscle-- Hank guessed a security team. One was a small man who flanked the others, probably some kind of assistant. By the time Hank got a good look at the man walking out front, they were standing just a few feet apart. In a crowd of a hundred people Hank still would have known he was The Boss. Tall, well groomed, classically handsome--It was all shadowed by his commanding presence. Whoever the man was, he wasn't a person who walked into rooms. He was a man who owned whatever room he was in. 

He observed Hank for a moment then frowned.

"Fetch this man a robe. From the pool." The silver haired stranger ordered in a firm baritone. He had an accent from somewhere in Europe, but Hank couldn't identify it.

Dmitry watched Dieter nod and turn to fetch it. If the assistant had any opinion of Boris giving his favored robe to a complete stranger he kept it well hidden; not that Boris would employ someone who couldn't hold a straight face. His eyes flicked to Hank. The man was unflinchingly staring his brother down. He was either exceptionally brave or exceptionally foolish and either way it would be entertaining for Dmitry, at least.

"I am sorry you were not clothed earlier." Boris informed the nearly nude man before him stiffly. "It seems Mr. Vasylliev was remiss in his human decency."

Dmitry shrugged off the harmless insult. He'd been called much worse, and besides-- He was much more interested in why Boris was so interested in Thirteen's welfare. "We were in a bit of a rush avoiding the police and all."

"You have taken this man from the police? And brought him here?" The estate's owner questioned sharply.

Dmitry was almost tempted to laugh while Boris' jaw clenched in irritation. "Do not worry, Boris. It was a clean escape. We were not followed. Unfortunately I must return to ensure they don't decide to pursue him as a missing person."

"What?" Hank hadn't meant to say it out loud, but the thought of being at the mercy of another stranger was making his chest tighten uncomfortably. He just needed to take a few deep breaths and remember why he was doing this. To keep Evan safe.

"And what am I to do with your… Friend?" The silver haired man asked archly.

"Not my friend. Maybe yours. Thirteen here can fill in the details. Get to know each other; you two have a lot in common." He clapped Boris on the shoulder and turned back towards the helicopter.

"He's really leaving?" Hank asked as the propellers started to move again. 

The man opposite him let out a long exhale. "It would seem so."

Hank forced down his nerves to look at the situation critically. There was an interesting power dynamic between Boris and Dmitry, he decided. They weren't boss and employee like he'd first assumed-- but they also didn't act like friends. Dmitry seemed to annoy Boris. He was definitely missing some crucial detail that explained their relationship: Why would Boris deal with someone who annoyed him? He'd keep an eye on it. Wait and see, the old doctor's standby.

The assistant returned with a fluffy looking black robe while they were watching Dmitry board the helicopter. He wordlessly handed it to Hank and returned to stand by his boss' flank. 

"Thank you." Hank said gratefully to them both as he wrapped it around himself.

"Of course." The silver haired man murmured in return. 

Hank felt a shiver climb up his spine. He was definitely too aware of the man next to him--the length of his limbs, the breadth of his shoulders, the line of his jaw. Forcing himself to watch the helicopter lift off didn't help, not when he kept wondering about who the man next to him was and what would happen next. By the time the helicopter was a spot on the horizon he was desperate for information. No matter what came next, nothing was worse than not knowing.

"You must be Boris?" Hank finally clarified as he extended a hand.

"Duke Boris Kuester von Jurgens-Ratenicz. You'd be informal about it, too." His little smirk was in a dangerous place between charming and disarming; his handshake firm and efficient. "Dmitry said you are… Thirteen?"

Hank pulled the robe slightly tighter around himself. "I was the thirteenth person for sale in the auction."

"I see." He remarked as casually as if Hank had suggested it might rain. "Dmitry finds human trafficking abhorrent. What was he doing there, I wonder?"

"He said he was looking for me, but I don't know why." Hank offered.

Boris looked at him contemplatively. "So you are?"

Hank frowned. "I'm no one. Not anymore."

"You must have a family, someone to return to? I could arrange it for you if that would suit." Those cerulean eyes were evaluating him again, Hank was sure of it. Not that he could blame Boris about being cautious about a nameless stranger entering his home.

"No. I wish I could, but for them to be safe I have to stay gone." 

"Understood." And maybe he was imagining things-- but Hank felt like Boris really did, somehow. He made a mental note. "I'll show you to your rooms. Perhaps you'd like to bathe?" 

A shower. Months spent captive in a basement had left Hank coated in a feeling of griminess he couldn't seem to get rid of. Even when he'd gotten an actual shower before the auction instead of a sponge bath from a bucket of rain runoff--It wasn't enough. The water had been cold and dirty and he'd ended up getting in a losing fight with two guards when he noticed them getting uncomfortably close to some of the women. Then they'd immediately caked him in makeup to bring in bids. A shower. 

"Yes." Hank forced out. "I would like that."

Those eyes swept over him again--What exactly was Boris looking for?--Then the man turned and began to walk into the enormous estate. Hank's chest started to tighten again. The man could murder him and no one would ever know. He could chain Hank up in the basement; could use him for sex or torture him or just leave him to starve. He was powerless to stop any of it. Hank took a deep breath and followed Boris inside.

Vaulted ceilings soared at least twenty feet high, possibly thirty. Massive glass chandeliers were hung at even intervals and Italian marble stretched as far as the eye could see. There were paintings in gilded frames and priceless antiques--But nothing personal that Hank could see. The halls were a twisting labyrinth that Boris effortlessly navigated but Hank was almost sure he'd get lost in within a few turns. Even at Boris' brisk clip it took them close to five minutes to reach a door with a maid in front of it. The entire hall was lined with doors on both sides, all closed. They were probably bedrooms. Hank wondered briefly if Boris' room was nearby or if he was being put far away from the nobleman. 

"Your accommodations--I hope you'll find them acceptable?" With a slight wave of his hand the maid opened the door for them.

Hank wasn't sure what to look at first: the entire wall of windows with a view overlooking the bay, the ceiling covered with a fresco of flowers and cherubim, or the massive four poster bed in the center of the room. He wanted to sink down into the soft bedding and sleep until he could wake up from the nightmare that had taken over his life.

"The accommodations are excessive in all things." Hank answered dryly.

Boris looked genuinely amused. The tightness in Hank's chest lessened just sightly. The man had an engaging smirk. Boris took another step into the room and pressed on a false panel in the wall, revealing an inset door. Hank knew bathrooms like this existed on TV, but he'd certainly never been in one. The entire thing was a wet room in cream-colored Italian marble with a freestanding shower in one corner and a contrasting granite tub rising from the center of the room. He was pretty sure it was bigger than his living room had been in Brooklyn, but it had been a while since he'd seen his apartment. Hank found himself frowning. How long had he been captive for, that he couldn't remember his own apartment? 

"I'll be here when you're done." Boris murmured quietly. "Take your time."

"Thanks." Hank answered distractedly while walking into the room. The door closed behind him with a quiet click. 

Finally alone, he looked over to the massive wall of mirrors and took a deep breath. Hank watched as his hands untied the robe Boris had lent him and let it fall to the floor. Was that him? He could barely recognize himself. His hair was cut shorter than he liked, his face was gaunt, his skin slathered in a poor attempt at cover up that stood out obviously in daylight. It highlighted his bruising instead of hiding it. He was covered in welts and handprints. The gold chain between his nipples glittered in the sunlight from the windows. Hank desperately needed those piercings out, but he didn't think there would be anything in a guest bathroom in a mansion to help with that--he needed pliers. He took another deep breath in, reminding himself to be patient.

Hank looked away from his reflection and went to stand under the waterfall showerheads. He braced himself for a blast of freezing water as he turned the tap--But it was hot. The blistering torrent stung against his skin until it turned pink. It was unexpected. It was incredible. It made him remember that there was a time before captivity, and there would be a time after. He shampooed and conditioned what they'd left of his hair and used every bathing product on the shelf until he almost started to feel like a human again. Hank could feel his fear and uncertainty and fury washing away with the dirt and cover up and tears until he was raw inside and out. And clean. So, blissfully clean. 

He showered until the room was filled with steam and he didn't have to see his reflection in the mirror or the stunning views outside. He stayed under the spray until his skin wrinkled and he felt lightheaded from the heat. He listened to the soft sound of water against tile until he could remember how to breathe without his chest tightening. Hank stretched out his arms and shoulders, then turned off the tap. The black robe he'd unceremoniously dropped on the floor was smudged with beige where the cover up had rubbed off. A shiver ran up his spine-- He couldn't put it back on. Instead Hank found the towels and wrapped one around his waist, and then there was nothing left to do but to leave the bathroom to see what was coming next. Hank laid his hand on the cool knob for a second, then opened the door. 

"--this is the third time they've missed a deadline; end the contract. Contact Shulz and Stearns to apprise them of the situation." Boris barked into the phone. Hank watched him stride the length of the windows, his intense gaze focused on some point out in the water. "Yes, and the lawyers. We'll talk again tomorrow, I'm sure."

"You're still here." Hank observed as Boris ended the call.

"You seem surprised." He parried-- An observation for an observation. "Clothing for tonight and tomorrow will be delivered shortly. Is there anything else?"

Maybe it was the low rumble of his voice or the way he tilted his head or just how desperately Hank wanted the chain gone. "Needle nosed pliers. I have to take these piercings out. Please."

"Of course." Boris obliged as he reached into his suit jacket pocket. "It had occurred to me that you might want them removed, so I took the liberty of having a pair brought over while you bathed."

The moment Hank took them he realized he'd need help to get the piercings out. He had great hands-- hands that performed even the most complex medical procedures with ease-- but it was definitely a two person job. Hank looked up at Boris and the nobleman found himself momentarily transfixed. The man was exactly his type. He had lost everything; his home, his family, everything that made him who he was-- and still his jaw was stubbornly set, his eyes had a fierce independent glint not tempered by loss, a spirit that could not be broken. That it was all wrapped in a muscular body still dewy from the shower was admittedly felicitous.

"I can-" Boris paused to swallow thickly. "Help? If you'd like?"

"Thanks." Hank answered. "I'll hold the pliers?"

There was an awkward moment as Boris sat beside him on the bed. "Of course."

Hank inhaled deeply as Boris placed a warm hand against his chest to steady himself. The European was even more handsome up close: his crystal blue eyes were framed by long and dark lashes, his jaw was angular but not set, his nose patrician as his sprawling estate suggested he was. His cologne reminded Hank of walking in the woods during November. Clean and crisp, but somehow warm. It suited the man. He seemed so insular, but he was clearly thoughtful and kind. 

"Is this okay?" Boris asked as he gently lifted and pulled the piercing away from Hank's skin.

"Yeah." Hank said as casually as he could manage. The soft touch against his sensitive nipples was waking up something inside him he hadn't even known was sleeping. 

Carefully he slid the pliers into the hoop and opened them slightly. Boris took over once the pliers were in place and loosened the ball, fingers a constant tease against Hank's nipple as he rotated the jewelry until it was out. Hank wasn't sure if it was the gentle pulling feeling or the ring finally being gone or just the other man's nearness--He was ready and wanting for the first time since his problems started. Hank adjusted the towel around his hips.

"That didn't hurt?" Boris questioned.

"No." Hank breathed. He would have preferred it had, honestly--Pain was nothing compared to the incredible desire that Boris' fingers were stoking in him. His only saving grace was that Boris didn't seem to notice. He moved the pliers to open the other ring.

Boris was in over his head. The man beside him on the bed was slightly flushed, nearly panting, and if he moved to wet his lips one more time Boris was going to do it for him-- propriety be damned. Slowly he pulled the ring forward and started to rotate it, trying to ignore how the man arched into his touch. He was so responsive; Boris was nearly aching with want by the time the ring finally rotated all the way out.

"How is that?" Boris asked quietly, not moving his hands. 

"Good." Hank murmured back. 

"Good." 

For a moment they waited silently. There was something thick and heady in the air between them; a quiet promise in the waning light of dusk over the bay. Boris' hand stayed softly pressed against Hank's chest, feeling the rapid beating of the man's heart. He knew he shouldn't do it. He knew it was a bad idea. He thought about how he should stop even as he moved closer, even as their lips tentatively brushed for the first time. Then the man kissed him back and all he could think about was-- more.

Hank could feel the blood coursing hot through his veins. He was free of the basement and the guards and the nipple rings. He was in control of his own body again and he wanted to use it. He ran his fingers through Boris' silken silver hair while the man took possession of his mouth. Elegant hands moved over his back, tracing the curvature of his muscles and driving him wild. He hadn't realized how touch starved he was. He needed more. He ached to feel the weight of another human on him, covering him, everywhere. He needed skin on skin and he needed it immediately.

Boris deepened the kiss as the man leaned closer to him, fingers caressing his neck and teasing the collar of his shirt. He couldn't get enough of the man's smooth skin under his hands and with every touch the brunette seemed to melt deeper into his embrace. Boris wanted to see the man writhe with pleasure and his guest seemed to be more than amenable.

Reluctantly he broke the kiss. "I want to touch you."

"Where?" Hank asked, already knowing it didn't matter what Boris said-- he wanted those long fingers to caress every inch of his sensitized skin and he wanted that tongue to make him burn from the inside out. 

"Everywhere." He rasped. "Everywhere."

Boris didn't waste time. He pulled the man back into his embrace, finally daring to skim his fingers over more than the brunette's back. Seeing his muscular frame was one thing. Touching the warm contours of his flesh was another. He ran his palms over every centimeter of exposed skin, watching how the younger man gasped and growled with pleasure. Hank couldn't take the teasing. Months had passed since he'd had an orgasm; he was ready for that to change. He wanted the sweet oblivion of a climax and he just needed Boris to-- He didn't quite know. He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted, but he definitely didn't want to be teased with gentle and chaste touches above the belt. He leaned back onto the bed and Boris followed him down, finally giving him the full body contact he craved.

Boris found himself prone between the man's legs with an insistent erection demanding to be addressed jutting against his stomach. He broke the kiss to nip his way down the younger man's Adam's apple, leaving a small trail of pink marks as he got closer to the brunette's nipples. He blew on one stiffened peak and his guest rolled his hips in response. He laved the other with a hot, strong stroke of his tongue and the man thrust against him. It seemed natural that he should set the rhythm for them--the polite thing to do, even--a slow rock against his guest while the man undulated below him. He teased pink nipples until the brunette was breathless and flushed and he was ready to move on. While his hands explored the younger man's body he murmured all the filthy things he wanted to do between the hot kisses he was peppering anywhere his lips could reach.

Hank moaned low in his throat. He didn't know exactly what 'Blasen' was, but he knew he wanted it. He wanted everything the man had to offer in the waning light of the bedroom. Boris' voice was rough but his words were smooth and Hank didn't have to speak German when the carnal intent was so clear. Hands moved expertly over his body, bringing every nerve ending to life. Making him feel alive. Boris was big and strong and smelled so good-- Hank was already halfway there just making out like a teenager.

"So responsive." Boris murmured appreciatively. "So good."

The friction was incredible. Boris' beard scratched pleasantly at his neck while the man's lips moved over his racing pulse. One of Boris' thumbs flicked the nipple he'd just removed the piercing from and the noise that tore itself from Hank's throat was barely recognizable as human. Boris smirked and Hank couldn't take it, he needed more and harder and faster. He crushed their lips together and flipped them so he was on top and in charge of grinding their hips together. His cock was so hard, he was getting so close, and the whole world felt like it ended at the edge of the bed. It was just him and Boris and the delicious simplicity of sex. It felt incredible.

Boris was fairly certain that his guest hadn't realized his towel had completely fallen off during their position change until the man grabbed one of his hands and firmly planted it on his bare buttocks. It was all the permission he needed-- Boris' long fingers mapped the man's exposed flesh, greedily exploring his legs, his thighs, his exposed buttocks. The brunette was rocking against him almost desperately as he chased his climax and Boris wasn't far behind. It felt like there was fire in his veins and electricity on his skin and the only thing tethering him to reality was this incredible man whose name he didn't even know.

Pressure built within Hank as he matched the rhythm of Boris' hips thrust for thrust. He could feel the man's fierce grip on his ass, could feel the rough bite of fingertips against his sensitized skin. He moaned louder. Boris answered with a scorching kiss and used his grip on Hank's ass to thrust harder against him. Hank shivered-- the thought of Boris spreading him wide open to fuck him nice and hard and deep and--

"Boris!" It was too much, he held on to the nobleman's shoulders as his entire body trembled and tightened as he came.

Boris watched the man's face as he climaxed. He watched joy and agony and lust flicker across his face until it all melted away and nothing was left but raw sensation. He could feel the man coming in hot spurts against his belly and it was one of the most erotic moments of his life. Boris was close, nearing the precipice of his own orgasm, when the younger man suddenly froze with a horrified look.

"I am so sorry." Hank apologized, jumping off and wrapping the towel around himself as quickly as he could. "I didn't mean to--"

Boris castigated himself-- How could he take advantage like that? The man had been auctioned off as a sex slave that afternoon, and he'd shamelessly rutted against him. He didn't even know the man's name. "I hope you didn't feel pressured to--"

"--No! Not at all." Hank interrupted him awkwardly. "I, uh. I definitely wanted to. I'm sorry about your shirt."

That was all? His concerns were over a shirt? He hadn't felt put upon? Boris let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Ah. Don't be. I have others that could use your artistic touch, if you feel so inclined." The nobleman smirked and the man seemed to relax slightly. Good. "Would you like me to… stay?"

"No." Hank demurred. "No, thank you. I'll see you in the morning?"

"Of course." He got up to leave, then paused. "If you need anything, there's a phone to the staff. Or if you'd prefer, my room is three doors down on the left. The double set. I don't sleep much, so you won't be bothering me if that concerns you."

"Ah, thanks." Hank responded. It felt inadequate, like something was being left unsaid, and he had so many secrets to keep already. He didn't want to hide how he felt. "Hey, Boris?"

He stopped in the doorframe and looked back with interest. "Yes?"

"This is the first time I've felt something other than angry or terrified in months. Thank you." 

The man smiled at him and to Boris it was like seeing the sun for the first time in years. He didn't know how to say he understood; it was too early to explain he'd been born with a death sentence that should have already taken him-- he knew anger and fear all too well. He couldn't say anything, so instead he did the unthinkable.

He smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter teaser: 
> 
> "Do many people come this way?" His guest asked innocently.
> 
> Boris lifted an eyebrow at the question. "No, why?"
> 
> The next thing Boris knew he was pinned against the wall with the man's hands tearing at his belt. He wanted this, wanted to claim those lips with his own and to feel those strong hands on his cock. He shouldn't. He'd set a boundary-- he couldn't pursue a relationship until he knew the brunette's name-- but he didn't want to stop him. The man was pressed against him from their feet to where he trailed his tongue over Boris' pulse. Boris forgot how to speak for a moment as the man crept higher up his body while that hand kept stroking his erection.
> 
> "My name." The man whispered in his ear. "It's Hank. But that's all I can tell you."
> 
> "H-Hank." He said as if he were testing the weight of it on his tongue. 
> 
> Hank smirked at him. "So, can I keep going?"
> 
> "By all means." He agreed.


	3. Getting to Know All About You

Chapter Two: Getting to Know All About You

Duke Boris Kuester von Jurgens-Ratenicz had gone 43 years without ever needing an alarm clock. Poor sleep was a lifelong battle he used to his advantage in the workplace; he was never out of contact for more than four hours, it was unnecessary when he never slept more than three. He turned his greatest weakness into his greatest asset and built an empire and his reputation on it. Some called him Der Hai--The Shark-- and he didn't disagree. He felt a certain kinship with them, to be honest: neither slept deeply or frequently, they both commanded fear and respect from adversaries, and they never stopped hunting. They were solitary. They were strong.

Boris awoke feeling the best he had in years--Every strand of his being was humming with energy. He rolled over just to luxuriate in the touch of his silk sheets, stretched contentedly, and found himself smiling again. The world seemed brighter than it usually did as rays of sun reflected off his gilded ceiling and bathed the room in a warm light. It almost felt like the very morning was embracing him. Boris paused. The world did seem much brighter-- too bright, actually. He glanced at the timepiece on his wrist. It was almost eight in the morning; he'd overslept by four entire hours, more than he usually slept in an entire night. He'd missed a video meeting and two conference calls. For a moment Boris considered attending to the mess he'd caused by sleeping in, but then…

His guest. The brunette man fascinating him just a few rooms down the hall. He had to make sure the man had breakfast, and he was feeling uncharacteristically peckish himself. Work could wait just the once, he decided as he slid out from between silken sheets. He ought to dress for breakfast. Boris' massive walk-in closet was a coordinated kaleidoscope of blues, greys, and purples. He hoped his guest found the clothing he'd lent acceptable: a blue button down and a pair of ⅞ length trousers his tailor convinced him he'd wear. He suspected they would be full length on the shorter man. 

Boris went to put on his charcoal colored suit with the pinstripes and paused. Was it too intimidating? Did it make him seem unapproachable? He was acting foolish. The man wouldn't be intimidated by a suit. There was something about his guest, something he couldn't quite put a finger on. The younger man had been blackmailed, sold at auction, brought nearly naked before him-- And he'd unflinchingly met his gaze. He had an authoritative presence. He stood his ground in a way that very few did around Boris. Boris considered the possibilities: he didn't seem like he came from money, he didn't seem like a CEO or leader of something, could he have been a judge? He'd have Dieter check for missing judges under forty.

He grabbed the suit and continued to dress himself. A quiet knock came from the door. "Enter."

"Sir." Dieter announced politely. "It seems Mr Vasilyev's guest is availing himself of your main floor study."

"Is he?" Boris paused fastening his cufflink. He was certain he hadn't misread Shadow Pond's newest resident; he didn't seem like a spy. 

"He seems to be looking for something. He's looked everywhere but your desk drawers." Dieter reported dutifully. "Should we stop him?"

Ah. The man was looking for personal information: family photographs, books about hobbies, common ground. It fit well with his plans for the morning. He finished fastening his cufflink.

"No, I'd like to speak with him over breakfast. Unless he's already eaten?"

"No, Sir." Dieter confirmed. "Should I have Chef prepare a full spread?"

"Please. In the Morning Room." He'd prefer to eat on the terrace, but he wasn't sure how his guest felt about being outside regardless of how much security there was. He was in hiding.

Dieter nodded and left the room. It appeared it was time to greet his guest. Boris pulled on his suit jacket and began to traverse the cavernous halls. He loved his home. It felt like an extension of himself-- ornate and complicated and twisting. It came from history as he did, generations in the making. Every piece was significant from the antique beds that had slept Kings to the modern couches a distant relative had hand made. He took great pleasure in admiring it all mindfully each time he passed through. He leaned against the door frame of his office and wondered what his guest thought of his home. 

"Can I help you?" A familiar voice from the doorway queried. Hank froze, caught red handed. 

"I was trying to learn more about you." He answered sheepishly.

Hank looked up into Boris' gaze. Mirth glittered in those unfathomable crystalline depths. He almost felt like he was being hypnotized just looking at them too long. 

"Have you considered… Simply asking me?"

Boris couldn't figure out why he wasn't furious at an invasion of privacy. Perhaps it was the man's circumstances or the way Boris' shirt bunched a little at the cuffs on him. Maybe it was the memory of the man's face as he climaxed or the green-hazel of his eyes or just the memory of his smile. He just couldn't stop finding the man attractive--not just in body, but his intelligence and his courage and his forthrightness.

"You don't strike me as the sharing type." Hank answered, standing up. Boris was pleased to see the trousers fit him very well.

"I value my privacy." He conceded. "However, these are not normal circumstances. I want you to feel comfortable for as long as you wish to remain at Shadow Pond."

Hank looked at his hands for a second. He didn't have a plan beyond where he was now. He didn't know if he could leave while Evan's life was at risk, but staying indefinitely seemed impossible. It was just too much for him to consider after eighteen hours of quasi freedom. His adrenaline had run out and he was exhausted.

"You're very accommodating." He finally answered.

"Excess in all things." Boris reminded him pleasantly. "Let's get breakfast. The morning room is this way. I considered having it served on the terrace, but I wasn't certain of how you felt about being in the open."

"As long as no one's around I should be okay." Hank assured himself as much as the man opposite him. 

They started to walk through the halls. He hadn't seen this part of the manor the night before, or maybe he had? They all blended together with their vaulted ceilings and rows of overheight doors. A comfortable silence settled between them, but Hank had quiet enough for a lifetime. He wanted to talk.

"Yesterday was weirdly cold for summer. Fall must be coming early this year." He said offhandedly. "Thanks for the clothes."

"Summer?" Boris stopped beside him. "Do you know what the date is?"

The brunette man looked at him. "I'm not exactly sure; but it's early August, right?"

In that moment the man looked so effortlessly contented that Boris wanted to lie. He wanted to protect that grin that felt like sunshine and the way his eyes wrinkled at the edges. He must have looked like this all the time in his before, Boris considered. Carefree. Easy. Uncomplicated. He wanted to change the seasons and turn back the clock just so a virtual stranger could continue to smile.

"No." The nobleman answered softly. "Today is the sixteenth of November."

"Oh." Hank replied suddenly feeling a little like he was floating. 

Six months. He'd been in that warehouse for more than five months. He'd missed his birthday, what would have been his wedding day, the anniversary of his mother's death. He wondered how Evan felt, mourning the loss of their entire family. Just for a second he wished he could go back fifteen years and visit their mom's grave with him. His baby brother was all alone. And the worst part--He felt numb to it. It was like his brain couldn't accept anything else bad. Adrenaline fatigue, a small voice in the back of his mind supplied. He put it on the list of things to worry about later. He couldn't process it yet. He just couldn't.

Boris rested a hand on his lower back. "Let's get some breakfast. Come."

Hank nodded and they started to walk again. The Morning Room was surprisingly close considering the size of the estate. Floor to ceiling French doors framed by gauzy curtains flooded the room with sunlight and natural warmth. A banquette was set with piles of food, more food than Hank could remember seeing in the last six months combined. It made him feel guilty. What happened to everything they didn't eat?

"Anything uneaten is available to the staff, if they wish." Boris answered like a mind reader. "I abhor food waste."

That piqued Hank's interest. Clearly the man hadn't personally gone hungry--Maybe he had a friend who had? He had so many questions and no real way to ask them. Boris seemed like he was in the world but not of it; a little removed from other people. The man lived in a modern-day castle with his own security force. If there was a physical wall between him and the world, why not an emotional one? But if he didn't want to connect on a human level, why care about food waste? Why did Boris save him?

Boris watched the man from the corner of his eye as he ladeled some fresh fruit into a small crystal bowl. His guest was clearly trying to make sense of him. He considered telling the man about his travels--how he'd found his center in Tibet and learned to love in Cuba--but dismissed the idea. For the moment, anyway. Instead he placed his bowl on the breakfast table near a saucer of espresso had been left for him and waited for the younger man.

Hank mechanically made his way down the banquette. The strawberries looked fresh picked and there was a mountain of sliced oranges next to what looked like salted papaya. He mindfully filled his plate, repeating to himself that food wasn't scarce anymore. He knew the risks of overeating after underfeeding. The rest of the food wasn't as interesting to him; he'd never had a taste for sugary things like pastries and while he didn't mind a bacon-fried breakfast for a special occasion he didn't think his stomach was ready for it. He grabbed a gold-rimmed china cup and filled it with coffee from what looked like a real silver urn. He'd missed coffee. It reminded him of work: the exhaustion and the adrenaline and the feeling of absolute satisfaction. Staying up all night studying in med school and forty-eight hour shifts and hundred hour weeks during residency. Entire days passing in the ER in what felt like minutes.

"You are free to choose from more than my selections." Boris remarked as his guest sat beside him. 

Hank looked at the man's plate--papaya, oranges, mango, strawberries-- identical to his own. "You're pretty health conscious."

Boris delicately speared a mango piece with his fork. "Health is one of very few things one cannot purchase."

Hank hummed in agreement as he took his first bite. The salted papaya was sweet and savory and tangy. It was the best thing he'd ever tasted. He tried a strawberry and it was somehow even better; juicy and perfectly ripe. He meant to talk with the man next to him during breakfast but he couldn't seem to stop eating until his plate was completely empty and his hunger was gloriously satiated. 

"Did you sleep well?" Boris asked politely.

It seemed ridiculous to Hank. Two nights ago he'd slept in a stone basement, and now? He didn't know how to pretend he was fine and he was pretty sure Boris wouldn't want him to anyway. Hank took a long drink of his coffee.

"Better than I have in months." He finally answered wryly.

"I don't keep many personal things." Boris said, changing topics as he placed his espresso cup and saucer neatly on the table. "You're welcome to look around any part of the estate, but asking me will provide you with more answers. I only ask one thing in return." 

Hank frowned. "And what's that?"

Boris leaned in. "I want to know your name. Your real one."

"I can't tell you that." 

"Not your full name. Just your first name. Your nickname, even. I can't possibly call you Thirteen."

Hank flinched slightly at the mention of the auction. "Yeah, I'd prefer that."

Boris sat back in his seat. "What about a quid pro quo exchange? I tell you things, you tell me things."

"I can't tell you anything specific about who I used to be." Hank cautioned. "No real names, dates, places."

"I had assumed that would be the case." The nobleman confirmed. "Would you like to go first?"

Hank weighed his options for a moment. He was positive it wasn't a trap, but he had no way of knowing how much information Boris needed to find his real identity. That was too much of a risk. Still, he needed information and this seemed like his best chance at getting it.

"What is Dmitry to you?" He surprised himself by asking.

Boris tilted his head slightly. That observing gaze was back. "Curious first question. Very well, Dmitry was raised by my mother's family."

"You're cousins?" The younger man clarified.

"I didn't say that. Our familial bond is not public knowledge." 

Hank nodded. "I'm sure you have your reasons. Your turn."

"Where were you kept?" Boris asked without preamble. "Was there no sunlight?"

Hank took a drink of his water. He could still smell the cigarettes and the mold and the oppressive dust. He could still see the dark settling thickly in the corners near where the leaking roof left rust stains the size of stalagmites. Time was a formless miasma he couldn't quite keep track of. They would bring ten or fifteen people at a time to a recreation area with a small track but not regularly enough to tell time by it. Food, too, was delivered at meaningless intervals. It was always just slightly too cold. He shivered.

"Some place industrial, maybe a factory complex? It was big, bigger than a warehouse. Mostly metal. I'm not sure if there weren't any windows or if they were just boarded. It was dark."

"Did any physical harm come to you?" The silver haired man asked evenly.

"No, the-- I don't know, management?-- kept the guards away from us. Something about not damaging the product. I was never sexually abused. The bruising is from after they moved us to the auction house's basement. There were different guards and they kept getting close to some of the women. I tried to protect them."

"You did all you could to the point of your own detriment." Boris responded contemplatively. Had the man been a police officer? No, his sudden disappearance would have attracted too much attention. "You did more than most would have."

"What is it like, being you?" The man asked. 

Boris had to force down another burgeoning smile. Casting a broad net was a wise tactic. The question was, how much was prudent to share? The more important question: why did he want to share everything?

"I have known great privilege and grave misfortune."

"Ask vague questions, get vague answers. Noted." The brunette laughed a little as he stood up. "Hey, do you want to talk and walk?" 

He couldn't possibly. He'd missed two conference calls, a tele meeting, probably hundreds of emails, dozens of calls, an entire morning's worth of work--

"Absolutely."

The brunette drained his coffee mug and stood up. He still looked pale, but Boris supposed that was more due to a lack of sunlight than any physical ailment. Ideally he would get a doctor to check on his guest before too long. He hadn't bothered to replace Doctor Silver after the man had accidentally caused the death of a supermodel named April during his annual Memorial Day party. It would take some time to find someone suitable for the job. Perhaps someone with a psychiatric background, so the man could begin to process all that he'd survived.

"Tell me about Shadow Pond." His guest asked as they walked out of the Morning Room. 

"Shadow Pond was constructed between the years of 1914 and 1919 by my great-grandfather. It stands at approximately 33,000 square meters in size-- that's 109,000 square feet."

"That's not really what I meant." The brunette clarified. "You don't exactly sound like you're from the Island, so I don't think you grew up here. It's November so you're not summering in the Hamptons. I think this is your main residence. So I want to know why you chose here. What you love about it. Your favorite room."

The man had accidentally given him a clue. He had an accent, too-- undoubtedly from Manhattan or near it. Perhaps Queens, perhaps northern New Jersey. It wasn't a large region but with such a significant population it would take time to locate him in Missing Persons, and that was assuming he had been reported as missing. Still, a gut feeling suggested it was worth pursuing. A person like his guest had friends if not family. Beyond that the man had bartered himself into sexual slavery to protect someone. That person must have reported his disappearance.

"If I tell you about Shadow Pond, I'll be telling you about myself--What I value, what I admire, what I prize above all else. Resourceful."

"I've been told it's a talent of mine." The man flashed a smile at him and Boris felt slightly off-kilter. That had to be why he felt so compelled to answer.

"Shadow Pond is home to the only good memories I have of my childhood." He expected to stop there, he'd already divulged so much, but his mouth just kept moving. "My family has three warring factions that have all tried to have me eliminated as heir. I felt like I was drowning the longer I stayed in Germany after my parents had passed. I traveled but just felt like I was becoming even more lost. Finally I came here. The estate hadn't been visited in at least ten years. I meant to only stay for the summer; that was nearly twenty years ago. I still travel extensively but Shadow Pond is the only residence I've personally curated. I hope to live out the rest of my days here."

Boris avoided those hazel-green eyes as he spoke. He felt raw and exposed and yet somehow lighter. It felt like taking Confession as a youth with his mother; an unsettling sensation of feeling better and worse at simultaneously. Then he felt something-- the warm touch of a thumb sliding from the pulse at his wrist to his palm. He took the hand and calloused fingers entwined with his own. His heart was thumping in his chest.

"I don't know how my life got here. I don't know where to go from here. But maybe if I'm lucky Shadow Pond will heal me, too."

Boris looked at his guest's earnest expression and felt an incredible desire to kiss the man, to hold him until they could forget everything else, to murmur the man's name against his heated skin over and over until it was the only word he knew. But he couldn't. He knew he had to stop everything before it went further.

"There is one other thing I'd like to tell you." Boris said evenly. "I can't pursue a physical relationship without having a name for you. It's too impersonal. I hope you'll understand?"

"Not an anonymous sex guy?" The brunette man asked. He didn't sound surprised, just curious. He didn't let go of Boris' hand.

"Ah, no. A product of my era, I'm afraid. I'm attracted to the full person or not at all--so nameless sex has never appealed to me."

"Do many people come this way?" The brunette asked innocently.

Boris lifted an eyebrow at the question. "No, why?"

The next thing Boris knew he was pinned against the wall with the man's hands tugging at his belt. He wanted it, wanted to claim those lips with his own and to feel those strong hands on his cock. He shouldn't. He'd set a boundary-- he couldn't possibly pursue a relationship with someone whose name was a mystery-- but he didn't want to stop. The man was pressed against him tantalizingly; thigh to thigh and chest to chest and the man's mouth was on his neck again, tongue trailing hotly up his jugular.

"My name." The brunette whispered in his ear. "It's Hank. But that's all I can tell you."

"H-Hank." He said as if he were testing the weight of it on his tongue. "Why? Why tell me?"

"Quid pro quo. You trusted me enough to open up and I want to give you something in return." Hank purred seductively. "Me. My name. My body. So, can I keep going?"

"By all means." Boris agreed readily, gently tilting up the man's chin for a kiss.

Hank's lips were warm and pliant against his own. He could taste some of his favorite things-- the bite of coffee served black, the sweetness from fruit at breakfast, and the alluring taste of a new lover. Nimble fingers made quick work of his belt then moved on to his trouser's button and zipper. Boris inhaled sharply as a firm hand wrapped around his erection and started to work the length. He deepened their lingering kiss while his fingertips gently explored the breadth of his companion's shoulders and the musculature of his arms. 

Too soon Hank broke the kiss to drop to his knees. Usually he would take his time, tease his partner by running his tongue up and down the shaft or spend a frustrating amount of time sucking just the crown. He couldn't seem to control himself around Boris, though. He desperately wanted the smell of sex in his nose and the taste of cock on his tongue. Most of all he needed to connect with another human in the most basic way. Boris reminded him of all the things he used to like-- good conversation, human empathy, and visceral attraction: the need to have another person's skin on his, the vulnerability and trust sex required, the sight of someone losing control as they climaxed.

"Lucky me." Hank muttered to himself as he freed the man's impressive erection from his boxer briefs. 

Boris didn't have the wherewithal to reply. The man's mouth was hot and wet and engulfed him whole, desperate and slurping and sucking. Enthusiastic didn't begin to describe the eagerness Hank-- that was his name, his beguiling guest trusted him enough to share his name-- seemed to have for his erection. The man pulled Boris' length deep into his throat, trailing his tongue expertly along a sensitive vein as he went. He found his rhythm quickly, bobbing his head and sucking the crown while he took a breath. 

Watching his cock slide in and out of a handsome, smart, and rather talented mouth was incredible. The sight was nearly as enjoyable as the sensation, and Boris was so focused on Hank's lips enveloping his shaft that he nearly missed the man's hand moving to his own erection. He stroked it almost absently in time with the bobbing of his head. Did he even know he was doing it? Was he so aroused by Boris' cock he couldn't help but touch himself?

Boris had never witnessed someone so effortlessly erotic. He'd never witnessed anyone like Hank.

He buried his hands in the soft waves of the man's hair and let his head fall back slightly. English and German mixed together in his head until he didn't trust himself to speak. His orgasm was approaching, rising and surging furiously within him. Hank moaned and he could feel the low rumble around his cock. It was too much, it was all too much. He was overcome by Hank-- the softness of the man's hair and the flush of arousal on his cheeks and the sound of his moan and the sight of those lips on him so intimately. Boris let it all overwhelm him until wave after wave of pleasure consumed him and he came with a thunderous roar. 

Hank greedily swallowed every hot spurt he was given. Boris watched as the brunette reflexively wiped up a drop that had collected on the corner of his mouth with his thumb, then licked that clean as well. A sense of peacefulness wrapped around Boris post climax, soothing as a warm blanket. Suddenly it seemed simple to accept how completely, utterly, hopelessly entranced he was by the man. He wasn't hurting anyone being fascinated. He knew better than to fall in love and he had enough self control to step away if he started to. They should get to enjoy their time together, however long or brief. It was decided.

"Are you always so… Passionate?" He asked curiously while Hank gently righted his trousers for him. 

"Pretty much, yeah." He stopped for a moment, considering his next words. "I've also never gone six months without sex. I was engaged, before."

Boris suddenly felt a little--deflated, perhaps? As if that endless energy he'd woken with just a few hours ago had suddenly vanished and taken his post sex calm with it. Something about Hank being affianced didn't sit well with him. The thought of him planning a life with another, loving another, returning to another--

"They didn't take everything from me at once." His guest continued as he stood back up. "It was a process; they started with my job and just kept coming back for more until I had nothing left but the safety of-- well."

"Your fiance is the one you are protecting, then?" 

"No." Hank answered simply. "No, she left when things got hard. Once she couldn't tell her friends about--Anyway. She left during the lowest point in my life and losing her just felt insignificant compared to losing my career. They thought taking my freedom was the worst thing they could do to me, but they were wrong. They took my vocation. When I think about never being able to do what I did before again--It's the hardest part for me to accept. Even with things starting to look up I can never have that back."

"I am pleased you feel your situation is improving." He nonchalantly replied. Whatever Hank's vocation was, he had already decided to ensure the man got it back.

"Yeah. It's more than getting out of that basement. I like you, Boris." Hank smiled at him and he swore the earth tilted slightly. "You're sympathetic without being patronizing. You're kind and interesting and funny. Meeting you is the first good thing that's happened to me since I don't even know when. I think maybe even well before my problems started."

The clock behind them chimed ten in the morning. By now he'd missed another tele conference, at least a hundred emails must have piled up, who knew how many calls--

"Do you play chess, Hank?"

\--And for the first time in twenty years, he was going to let the world burn without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm already running 6 days behind my posting schedule and it's only chapter 2. Oof. This story has two wild sex scenes, and the first is next chapter! Get ready!


	4. Getting to Like You

His life had certainly taken a surprising turn for the domestic, Hank reflected while gazing out the library windows. Over the last few weeks he and Boris had fallen into a pleasant routine: every morning they woke up in their own beds, exercised and bathed separately, then came back together for breakfast. They spent their evenings talking for hours then fell into Boris' bed--or couch, shower, bath, and even the pool, once--and just before Hank got near falling asleep he'd drag himself back to his room. 

While Boris worked off and on throughout the day, Hank sequestered himself in the library. On the surface he liked the overstuffed couches, warm fire in the hearth, and endless rows of books-- but on a deeper level, if he was being honest with himself, he liked the massive floor to ceiling french doors that stretched the entire length of the room. He could watch the sun rise in the west, peak overhead, then set in the east. After five months without seeing the sun he couldn't seem to breathe right when it wasn't in view.

He didn't talk about it, but Boris had definitely noticed his eyes darting to find sunlight and his breath coming almost raggedly when he couldn't. Dinner had been wordlessly moved from the elegant but windowless Grand Dining Room to an impressive solarium and the fitness center with the treadmill Hank liked to use had been suddenly relocated from a space on the underground level to what he suspected had been a glass enclosed sitting room on the ground floor.

Honestly, he liked Boris. More than he'd expected to. If things were different, if they'd met before everything happened-- Hank shook his head. He was being ridiculous. They would never have been together if it weren't for his extenuating circumstances. Even if he hadn't been about to get married to someone else it's not like he could have risked his father suddenly reappearing at the smell of a rich son in law. He could only imagine what would happen if he brought Boris home to meet his Ponzi Scheme ensnared brother.

Evan hadn't even liked upper middle class Nikki. For a guy who loved money, he had a chip on his shoulder for those he felt didn't earn it. Hank could only imagine what he would have said about Boris. Then again--Hank thought back to his engagement party, how Nikki had set Evan off by insulting his medical bag. He'd been provoked but that's just how she was; there was always room for improvement or more or better. She didn't understand nostalgia or sentimentality. If Boris had been there--not that he was thinking about marrying Boris, it was just a comparison-- It would never have occurred to him to replace something Hank loved. Boris would have done something thoughtful like procuring a first edition text of Gray's Anatomy hand notated by Henry Gray himself in 1863. Or surprised him with a bound copy of the thank you letters he got from patients. At the very least he wouldn't have insulted his roots and hurt the only family Hank had left.

He missed Evan. He missed his brother so, so much. It was a constant nagging worry in the back of his mind. Was he okay? Did he get out of that investment scheme or was he going to turn out like their father? Hank couldn't begin to imagine how much his disappearance must have hurt his baby brother and how worried he must be. Hank couldn't do anything about the situation and it was agonizing. He needed a distraction-- something, anything, to take his mind off it. He continued to stare out the window at the cresting waves. He couldn't hear the roar or smell the sharp tang of salt through the glass but he knew they were there, just like Evan. Maybe he couldn't see his brother, but the man was safe. He was free. Hank had done the right thing.

"You seem preoccupied this morning." Boris' pleasant baritone washed over him. Long arms draped themselves around his shoulders, bringing Hank back to the present.

"I wish I could tell you about it." Hank replied honestly. "Just doing a lot of thinking."

He felt the nobleman's beard lightly scratch his neck as the man tilted his head curiously. "Anything I might be able to assist you with?"

He wasn't ready to ask Boris for help with Evan--Yet. He couldn't rule the option out entirely. In a perfect world he wouldn't need to ask Boris for anything, he didn't want to be another person asking the man for something, but in his position he didn't exactly have a lot of options. Maybe in six months he'd change his mind, but all Hank wanted at the moment was to stop thinking about it.

"I could use a distraction."

"Would you like for me to keep you company here? Or would you prefer a different sort of… Diversion?" Boris asked with a gleam in his cerulean eyes.

Hank smirked. "Definitely that." 

"Come to my office in let us say-" He glanced at his watch. "-thirty minutes."

"I'll be there." Hank promised. He could already feel his pulse picking up and the rush of blood through his veins. 

The next twenty minutes felt like an eternity. He paced the length of the room once, twice, a third time. Ten times, twenty. He counted lengths of the room then laps and checked the watch Boris had gotten him every ten seconds. Hank's old watch had been an impulse purchase on Canal Street. It was a Timex with a leather band that had cost thirty eight dollars. When Boris had arranged a wardrobe for him he'd found the timepiece in its IWC Schaffhausen box sitting on his dresser. Hank didn't live for material things, but he could certainly appreciate them--and there was so much to appreciate about a watch of its caliber. When he went to dinner wearing it Boris had smiled at him like Hank had given him the real gift. The man said he'd noticed how Hank occasionally looked at the empty spot on his wrist. Hank had answered honestly: the watch was perfect, but the giver was superior.

Hank couldn't wait any more. He started the winding walk towards Boris' office, trying to keep his steps slow and measured. It was just as bad to be early as it was to be late. He checked his watch; he'd arrived six minutes before they'd planned. That was close enough. Hank cautiously knocked on the massive mahogany door. It sounded like there were voices on the other side, had something come up? Should he go? Just as he was about to turn and leave the door swung open. Boris looked somehow different standing just inside the doorway without his suit coat or tie. 

"Conference call. You'll have to be very quiet, Hank." His voice was a deep purr that sent a shiver down Hank's spine. "Can you do that for me?" 

Hank found himself licking his lips as he nodded yes. Boris pulled him inside and immediately crushed their mouths together in a scorching kiss. One strong arm wrapped around Hank's waist and held him close while the other silently closed the door behind them. Now that he was in the room Hank could hear more clearly. The call must have been massive because it seemed like every time someone spoke it was a new voice. Hank wasn't sure if that meant it was a very important call or a totally useless one and if he were being honest with himself the only thing he actually cared about at the moment were the long fingers slipping into his back pocket and cupping his ass. 

He wanted to moan but instead Hank arched into the feel of Boris hard against him. The hand on his ass pulled him closer until they were crushed together. He needed to get his clothes off. Breaking the kiss Hank reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Boris let go of his waist to unfasten Hank's tan pants and let them fall to the floor. He inhaled sharply as Hank's erection sprang free, bobbing heavily between them. It was thick and glorious and with a heavy dorsal vein that always made Hank gasp in the most sinful way.

Boris' hand wrapped around his partner's cock, too light and too teasing. Hank swallowed back a noise of dissatisfaction. He wanted more. He wanted Boris to sit him on that desk and make everything just disappear. Hank pressed their lips together once more as he started to walk them both towards the desk. He was nothing if not driven and goal-oriented.

"Boris?" A voice from the conference call asked. "Sicherlich haben Sie eine Meinung?"

Boris broke the kiss and gently laid a finger across his partner's lips. "Ja."

Hank sucked the digit into his mouth, running his tongue up and down the length of it while Boris spoke at length about something. He could listen to that voice all day long in any language the man wanted to speak. Boris' other hand moved over his back while Hank went to work unbuttoning his friend's shirt, still fellating the finger in his mouth. He preferred to keep himself groomed but there was just something about Boris' chest hair he couldn't get enough of. He loved resting with his cheek on it, loved the feeling of it rubbing against him during sex, loved the sight of it when they showered together. 

Finally Hank pulled the man's shirt open and began to run his palms greedily over the exposed flesh. Neck, shoulders, pectorals, nipples, abs. Boris looked vaguely amused and maybe even pensive, as if he were already planning his next two steps. As someone else began to speak Boris took a small step backwards, moving to sit on an armless chair. He pulled Hank with him, gently guiding the other man to straddle his spread thighs. His cock strained against his suit pants at the sitting motion but he distracted himself with the beautiful ass now fully accessible to him. Boris ran his fingers up and down the soft cleft before allowing one saliva coated finger to breach the surface and brush against his partner's tight entrance. Thankfully he'd had the wherewithal to store the lubricant on his person. 

Boris' other hand closed firmly around Hank's erection and began to stroke it. Hank barely managed to stop himself from moaning Boris' name out loud. Base to tip the man expertly worked his length, teasing the crown as he went. Hank felt something hot and needy curling up within him as Boris' now lubricated fingers returned to his tight hole and started to probe. Hank barely held in a moan as the first finger entered him. He rocked back against the hand, needily looking for more. Soon a second finger joined the first and a desperate pleasure began to furl low in his belly. 

Boris watched him intently as he brushed his fingers over the man's prostate. Hank bit his lip to hold back a groan. It felt so good, he couldn't help the noises that were trying to escape him. Having Boris in him, stretching him open, preparing him was incredible. He undulated as he rode Boris' fingers, the man's other hand still wrapped tightly around his burgeoning erection. 

Soon he could feel it, the familiar precipice as he neared his climax. He'd rather come on Boris' cock, the thick length nearly too much at first but perfect when he came--but he liked this, too. Then suddenly Boris stopped. Hank nearly growled as his orgasm dissipated, barely remembering the conference call a foot away. He rocked back on those long fingers and suddenly everything was moving again. Pleasure mounted swiftly, even faster than the last time. He felt that familiar tightening--

Boris stopped again. He opened his mouth to protest and the fingers around him and in him began to move again. Hank gave himself over to the sensation only to have Boris stop yet again. The man was teasing him, letting him taste pleasure only to take it away again and again, until Hank was flushed and pink and dewy with a thin sheen of perspiration. His body trembled with want as Boris smirked and used a thumb to spread around the pre come collecting on the tip of Hank's shaft. Hank nearly whined; he couldn't take it anymore. It was all too much. He needed sweet release and he needed it immediately.

"Please, Boris." He whispered in the man's ear. "Bitte."

Something about that soft supplication in his mother tongue sent desire racing through Boris' veins. Teasing Hank wasn't enough anymore-- He needed to possess the main, to claim him in the most primal sense. He lifted Hank as he stood only to take one step and deposit his Engel on the gleaming oak desk. His own needy cock ached as he surveyed the completely nude man spread open before him, totally unashamed and desperate to be taken. Boris dug a condom from his pocket and tore open the packet with his teeth.

"No condom." Hank mouthed silently.

Boris couldn't agree more. He wanted to know what it was like to be buried in Hank with nothing between them, how it felt to come deep inside the man and claim the brunet as his. He took the lubricant and poured a generous amount in his partner's hand. 

"Not too much. I would hate for this to be over before it has begun." He murmured back.

Hank nodded eagerly. He was so ready. Rubbing his lubed hand up and down Boris' length he made sure every bit of it was slick and covered, then slathered the remainder between his own spread cheeks. He watched the man's pupils dilate hungrily as he moved closer. There was something to be said for the feeling of being wanted, and Boris desired him.

Feathering his hands over his partner's thighs, Boris slowly lined up his burgeoning erection at Hank's puckered entrance. He flexed his hips and pushed in slowly, reveling in the sensation of sinking deeper and deeper into the man before him. Hank was so incredibly tight around him, already thrusting up for more. His greedy lover. He fastened his mouth to a dusky pink nipple and teased it until he was completely sheathed in the younger man. After a moment he began to move slowly, each draw back and push forth agonizingly exquisite in its intensity. 

Hank was trembling again, so close but not quite enough. He needed Boris to let go of his wrists so he could touch himself. Boris leaned forward for a deep kiss, taking full possession of his mouth and ravaging it. Hank felt his partner move his hands almost like he was reaching for something, and then finally those long fingers wrapped around his shaft. The hand moved skillfully in time with the cock buried in him and tendrils of pleasure wrapped around him until it was all he could do to hold on. Every slide of heated skin against his own brought him closer to ecstasy; every thrust wound him tighter until he felt like he was going to explode.

"I hung up the phone, Engel. Let it all out." The man above him coaxed. He didn't need to be told twice.

"Boris!" Hank yelled on the brink of his climax. 

The nobleman thrust harder at his partner's urging. He felt like he was burning from the inside out. Flames raced through his veins, scorching their way towards an endless precipice. He was spiraling out of control and the only thing tethering him to reality was Hank's skin under his palms and that body clenched so perfectly around his shaft. 

"Ich gehöre dir." Boris growled as his partner bucked wildly beneath him. 

Hank clung to him as his climax overcame him and Boris couldn't hold back any longer. He thrust one final time, finally allowing ecstasy to overcome him as he spilled himself into his partner. It was more than sex. Hank made him feel complete. Alive. Every nerve ending sparked with electricity at the softest touch, every word Hank spoke fascinated him.

Boris had a long held belief that each time you gave a piece of yourself to someone they carried it with them for a lifetime. Hank had a piece of him now: a sliver of his humanity and a cubit of his soul. They were gifts freely given; he expected nothing in return. He only hoped that when Hank moved on he would recall their time together fondly. Boris was all too aware he was living on borrowed time--His legacy was his empire, but it wasn't quite enough. He wanted to be remembered as a man. He wanted someone to know him and who he was, not just his business acumen. As unbearably selfish as it was-- he wanted someone to miss him. 

Hank was still getting his breathing under control when Boris kissed him, more a gentle nuzzle than anything. The man was a mystery. Sometimes he seemed so placid and then seemingly out of nowhere-- For just a moment he would look lost, like he was alone at sea. Then the next moment it would pass and Hank was left wondering if he had imagined it or if Boris was fighting a battle he knew nothing about.

"Come." The nobleman said, pulling two robes from where he'd stored them under his desk. "I think a warm bath with a nice scotch is in order."

"You don't have work?" Hank asked drowsily. The robe was soft against his skin as Boris slid the garment up his arms and over his shoulders for him.

Boris shook his head while he tied the sash closed. "That conference call was scheduled to take up my entire afternoon."

"Won't they ask why you suddenly hung up?"

"I am of the opinion that a little mystery is healthy for the reputation." Boris answered with one of his rare little smirks, the kind that always made Hank's heart beat a little faster.

"Sure." The younger man replied with a sated grin. "Whatever you say."

He watched as Boris donned his own robe and gathered their clothing. The man was considerate. Not just in bed or to him, but to everyone. He called his housekeepers by name, thanked them, and picked up after himself. He didn't have to be like that; Hank knew plenty of people back in Manhattan that treated their cleaning ladies like garbage. Boris saw people the same way Hank did-- As life with intrinsic value. As beings that mattered.

And their shared worldview was making it really hard for Hank to keep sex and friendship and some burgeoning feelings he definitely wasn't ready for separate. He couldn't be in a relationship with his situation being what it was. He couldn't even be alone in a room without a window; he wasn't healthy enough to be a good partner to Boris. The man deserved everything: dancing in the moonlight in Paris and poetry read naked by a roaring fire and that awkward first time meeting each other's most important loved ones that would create a lifetime of funny stories if everything went well. He deserved someone whole. Someone who had their life together. Someone who could give him everything in return. Until he could be that person he was determined to just be friends who had incredible sex.

It shouldn't have been hard, except that he was already comparing Boris to his ex fiancee and finding her lacking. 

He was just… Everything. Everything Hank had ever wanted in a partner. Incredibly smart, kind, generous, health conscious, funny, handsome, well read, eloquent, athletic, their chemistry was unreal-- They even lived together and it just felt so easy. Conversation came freely and silence was comfortable and their companionship was effortless. He didn't feel drained or stifled or tense like when he'd slept over at other partners' homes for consecutive nights when they started getting serious. How could being with Boris feel so right when everything else in his life was so wrong?

"Are you alright?" A gentle voice asked.

"Yeah." Hank answered. "I was just thinking about you."

Boris kissed him again, another sweet brush of lips on lips. "Let us grab that drink and then we can talk."

The thought of walking through the halls in nothing but a robe made him slightly uneasy--Hank was a private person, he didn't like to announce his sex life to anyone who might be walking by during their workday. Then Boris pressed a warm kiss to his cheek and put a hand on his lower back and they were walking. The halls were completely empty. A little part of him wondered if Boris had requested everyone avoid this part of the estate, but maybe he was overthinking it.

When they arrived at Boris' room Hank was surprised to see a steaming bath had already been drawn and two glasses of scotch sat poured on a crystal tray nearby. Boris seemed to be prepared for any eventuality at all times--

"Were you a Boy Scout? As a kid?" Hank asked suddenly.

"For a short time." Boris replied with an intrigued lift of one patrician eyebrow. "It was practiced at Alpenschule-- A summer program I attended."

Hank untied his robe and let it fall to the floor. "You went to summer camp? I guess we have that in common. Though, honestly, I hated it."

"Me as well." Boris said darkly, then took a long drink from his glass as he entered the water. Hank followed his lead.

The tub was the perfect temperature, He decided as he leaned languidly against the man behind him. He'd always preferred to sit across from his partner in a tub, but something about Boris was just so magnetic to him. He couldn't get enough. 

"Tell me about your cousin Edith." Boris' voice was a low rumble against his ear.

Hank tilted his head questioningly. "I don't have a--"

"Your beloved cousin, for whom you traded your freedom." The nobleman supplemented. 

It clicked. "If I tell you about... Cousin Edith, I can change the identifying details while still telling you about it." 

Boris hummed in agreement. "Tell me anything you wish."

"Edith and I grew up together." It bubbled out before he could stop himself. He honestly wanted to tell Boris about Evan, and that surprised him-- Hank generally liked to keep a firm boundary between people he slept with and his family for as long as possible. He worked hard to become better than his questionable upbringing and he didn't want his roots to ruin something that could become incredible before it really had the chance to flourish. 

But as in all things, Boris was different. He hadn't been close to his parents as far as Hank could tell and he never mentioned relatives except Dmitry--and that was apparently a secret. For some reason he was convinced that no matter how bad his family behaved, Boris' family had done something--maybe many things-- much worse. He didn't have proof aside from Boris' vague statement about having him removed as heir, it was mostly a gut feeling. But his gut was almost never wrong. "I've spent my entire life trying to protect... Edith. Edith just takes after our..."

"Uncle John?" Boris offered at Hank's hesitation.

"Yes. Our Uncle John is a con artist. Edith is four years younger than I am, she never understood that. He left when she was only twelve and our Aunt… Jane, she'd been recently diagnosed. She died a couple of weeks after I turned 17. I supported Edith while she was in highschool and I started college. I tried so hard to teach her right from wrong but somehow she still would up like-- Like our uncle. If there's a way to mess up, Edith will somehow find it."

Boris' hands ran up and down his arms comfortingly. It would have been patronizing if anyone else had done it, but it felt empathetic coming from him. Hank wondered how old Boris had been when his parents died. Maybe he wasn't the only one to have known that loss so unfortunately young.

"She got involved in a Ponzi scheme, locating investors for someone. She really thought it was legitimate. She's not bad, she's just so naive. I kind of envy her for that. She got through our childhood innocent. I have no idea how."

"She had someone protecting her." Boris offered. Hank sank deeper into the man's arms, then turned his head to listen to the steady thump of Boris' heart.

"I did something-- No, I did the right thing. When the people I upset came to blackmail me, Edith was a natural target. She's my only family that's still around. At first they said they'd get her sent to jail. But then--I don't know. They changed their minds. I must not have looked scared enough. They said they'd have her killed. I left with them that night; I never got to say goodbye. And now she's totally alone in the world."

Boris' arms draped around him, holding him close. Hank couldn't fight the fluttering warmth that cut through the despair he felt when he thought too much about his circumstances. 

"I can help you, you only need to ask. If you'd like me to have her brought here or sent somewhere safe. I can help."

"Why?" Hank finally asked. "Why are you so interested in helping me?"

"I was not being entirely forthright, earlier." Boris started evenly. Hank stiffened in his arms. "My reputation is largely immaterial to me. I planned to take the afternoon off the moment I knew you needed something. In the short while I've known you, you've come to be very important to me. You are my priority, Hank."

"Oh." He remarked as the tension drained back out of his body.

"I understand you are limited by your circumstances, but it is my hope that someday we will be able to speak freely. I've come to feel very strongly for you."

He knew he shouldn't say it. He knew he didn't deserve the man holding him like he was the only thing that mattered in the world--Not yet, anyway. He was in danger and he might put Boris in harm's way, too. He felt like pieces of him were missing and he didn't know how long it would take to fix himself--Or even if he could be fixed. There were so many reasons to leave his feelings unspoken and only one to tell him: 

Boris deserved more than dishonesty or secrecy.

Hank turned sightly to look up at the man, water sloshing gently around them at the movement. Those crystalline blue eyes were gazing at the drink in his hand. He did everything so intensely, right down to observing his drink before taking a sip. A fine shadow of silver dusted his beautifully sculpted jaw in the late afternoon sun. Boris was incredible. Hank took a deep breath in before he could change his mind.

"Sometimes you feel too good to be true." He started. "Sometimes I have a hard time breathing because I'm so convinced that I'm going to wake up from this perfect dream and be back in that basement. Sometimes at night I don't know if I just woke up from a nightmare or if that was real and this is the dream. Sometimes I can't sleep because I'm too afraid I'll wake up and learn you were just a figment of my imagination. I like you so much, Boris, but I'm also so messed up."

"I had no idea the extent to which you are suffering." Boris murmured. "Hank, you are under my protection. I won't allow any harm to come to you. I want for you to feel safe, I want for you to heal, and above all else: I promise I am not going anywhere." He paused for a moment, weighing his next words. "Now that you've brought it up-- I have found the names of a few discreet and highly recommended specialists that primarily work with people who have survived long term captivity. Of course you are always welcome to speak with me about anything, but I do not know what you are going through or the best way to help. Let us work on that first. Then, when your troubles are more settled, perhaps we can revisit this topic again?"

"I would really like that." Hank answered gratefully. How did Boris always seem to anticipate exactly what he needed? How had he settled for so much less before now? "Thank you-- For being so understanding. For everything, really. Someday I'm going to pay back the favor."

"Virtue is its own reward." Boris parried. "I am more than happy to help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on whumping Hank quite this much, but here we are. Next chapter is going to be straight up Yearning!Boris fluff. 
> 
> Preview: For just a moment it was like Boris forgot how to breathe. He couldn't seem to remember how he'd lived forty years without feeling the way he did when Hank looked at him like that, and he couldn't bring himself to think about what he would do when the man left and took that sensation of warmth with him.

**Author's Note:**

> I am an Ironman! Woo! Anyway, I'm hoping to update this monthly, maybe the next chapter earlier since this is just a short little prologue.


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